


Where Hearts Return

by LiaLox



Category: Kingdom Hearts
Genre: A little bit of comedy, And Vanitas has a horrible potty mouth, Canon Compliant, Fluff and Angst, Foul Language, Gen, KHX people as minor characters, Tolerating each other, Vanitas POV, post-bbs, pre-KH3
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-12
Updated: 2019-06-11
Packaged: 2020-03-02 07:05:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 7,189
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18806161
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LiaLox/pseuds/LiaLox
Summary: One half of a broken heart finds himself in Daybreak Town.(When it comes to your fate, every step forward will always be--)





	1. Chapter 1

Vanitas was pissed.

He always was, always is, because ‘ _what is darkness, but hate and rage’_? The repeated words of a fallen master rang high and mocking in his head. Fuck her. Fuck _Aqua_.

But this time was different from his usual quiet anger. It was seething, bursting—barely kept under control as it threatened to boil over and all he needed was the means to do so. 

He wanted to raise his Keyblade and lash out at _anything_ that dared to come close. Turned that fucking fountain into ash with a blast of dark firaga, and let the debris rain down on the surrounding houses. The inhabitants would be just as pissed off as he was then, with their sleep disturbed and cast out of their homes screaming into the night. That would be good. It’s annoying to see everything _right_ when everything about him feels so wrong.

He could let out a thousand Unversed to plague this stupid world, and fuck off anywhere but here. Wherever ‘here’ was. Maybe then he’d find respite from all these shitty emotions. Maybe then he’d feel better.

Those are all the things Vanitas willed his broken body to do.

It didn’t listen.

And that wasn’t even the biggest reason why he was so infuriated. No. It was because of an insignificant little speck, crouching not-so-insignificantly over him while he lay maimed and crippled upon cobblestone roads.

He’d recognize that light no matter what state either of them were in.

“ _Ventus—_ “ Vanitas growled, and his body punished him for the motion. Every breath was like a dagger dragged through his flesh, and Ventus’ name was a crucifix. A nail hammered in each syllable, the effort of it leaving him strung and left for dead. He chocked. His limbs grasped for purchase as he recoiled in agony, but every fraction of a movement only seemed to heighten it. His ears were ringing. Why wasn’t he dead? 

“Huh?” Ventus, goddamn _Ventus_ , flinched at the sound of his name. “Wait, do I know you?”

You bastard, Vanitas thought while gritting his teeth. Not only do I know you, but I will _fuck you up_ as bad as you fucked up our heart, our _X-blade_ , when I get my hands on _you_.

“Shh, please, it’s hurting him to talk.” Someone else said but he refused to take his eyes off _Ventus_.

“Right. Sorry, we can talk once you’re better,” Ventus said to him gently. He folded his arms. “But I’m all out of potions and I’ve exhausted my MP trying to get all that stuff for Blaine. What should we do?”

Why wasn’t _he_ dead? 

“He’s not in any condition to tell us what to do with him. But I really think we should take him with us.”

“Then let’s bring him back,” Ventus decided. He glanced back at him, and oh how that disgusting look of pity made Vanitas absolutely _livid_. “Sorry, but we can’t just leave you here. I’m going to have to move you.”

Vanitas opened his mouth to protest, but the motion alone was enough to remind him of the consequences of doing so. He grimaced, and tried not to show exactly how much he was rolling shit and flowing piss.

Ah… so that’s what it is.

How ironic.

He’s too _broken_ to talk _back_.

A laugh tried to surface up Vanitas’ throat, rough and cathartic, but it came out in the form of a spasm of coughs and a wretched smile on his face. Damn it all.

Damn _Ventus_.

The boy seemed to ignore the fit. Chalked it up as discomfort from being shifted onto his back and lifted up, probably. He had no choice but to allow his chin to rest at the crook of Ventus’ neck. His skin is soft. It soured his mood.                                                            

“Hey!” The childish voice snapped at him from down below. It’s a strange cat-like creature and Vanitas wondered how he didn’t notice something with such a fucked up head-to-body ratio earlier. Or maybe he’s hallucinating such an existence. He could barely keep himself focused as it is.

Whatever it is, it’s hopping along next to Ventus, keeping pace despite its tubby legs. The confusion and the pain were starting to make Vanitas tired.

“Don’t worry,” the creature assured him. “It’s okay. You’re safe now. You’re finally—“


	2. Chapter 2

Vanitas wakes to a quiet breeze and warm sunlight.

He thinks he’s been here before. He recognizes the way the curtains move with the wind, and the way the window is positioned so that it avoids the direct path of the sun. The choice to have it face that direction was to keep the temperature consistent. He doesn’t know why he’s so certain.

On the bookshelf across the bed, there’s a picture frame planted face-down. He knows that if he were to pick it up, he’d see three people in the photograph. Right next to it is a combination of a cabinet and a drawer. He doesn’t know exactly what’s in it, but he knows the only things inside are clothes and blankets. The rest should be tucked away in the chest next to it.

Then there’s the desk. It’s stacked with random oddities at its edges, with the center of it left clear for the work that was meant to be done in it. The chair is empty for now, but he has a feeling it doubled as a laundry hamper. His muscles ache with just the thought of sitting in it for hours. 

This is Ventus’ room.

It’s not like how he remembers it in the Land of Departure, but the lingering scent on the bedsheets confirms exactly where he is. He could recognize everything in this room, but he wouldn’t be able to name anything in it. A familiar feeling is just that: a feeling. Nothing more.

But for a sentient sack of Ventus’ negativity, he sure felt like a lot more. He would raise some hell if he didn’t feel like complete _shit_. The strength light all around him made him nauseated. Weak, even. Without his usual strength, it stings his bare skin like an antiseptic and he wills the dark cover of his helmet into existence.

It doesn’t work.

He tries to pull the blanket over his head as a simpler solution and finds that he has some semblance of control now. His body feels numb and a deep ache flares at what sluggish motions he could perform. The motion is a pain in the ass for just a little shade, so he decided to focus on something more important: his keyblade.

He flexes his fingers under the covers, reaching for it, but that only felt like he was reaching for shards of glass. He remembered it shattering—their heart, along with their keyblades. He’s surprised it even existed at all, given all of his promises of it ‘vanishing forever’. The form was fragile, but he instinctively knew that forcing himself to grasp it wouldn’t turn out well. He leaves it be.

Vanitas takes a painful breath in and tries to find what solace he could in the softness of the bed. He feels calm now that he’s alone.

Calm enough to feel the grit between the blankets and the throbbing ache throughout his body. Calm enough to notice the pain center around his chest, and calm enough to hear the soft squeak of leather as he experimentally tugged on his tattered outfit to asses its damage. He’s even calm enough to admit to himself that being in a blind rage was stupid, especially since he’s in unknown territory. But he couldn’t help it. 

The sight of Ventus’ face sent him reeling. It was the last thing he wanted to see after all of _that_.

Or maybe it was the face he wanted to see the most. 

He pushes the thought out of his mind. Instead he focuses his thoughts on his tranquility. The surge of emotions he felt last night were damn near overwhelming. Surely the calm meant he’d expelled it all; forced out the negative emotions until it wasn’t part of him, until it ran rampant elsewhere other than his own heart. 

No. He couldn’t sense the stirrings of any Unversed. He couldn’t even sense the other side of his heart, and the lack of the additional senses carved his chest hollow. Those feelings aren’t his, and they’re so damn annoying at any given instance, but they’re a constant. He’s gotten used to having them. It feels wrong; like an amusement park with no lights, or a once busy street. No noise to fuel the chaos.

Then he’ll just make noise. He begins to gather mana in his hand, Ventus’ room be damned, when the door opens.

Ventus is leading the way, with two girls—no, just one girl and a teenage boy carrying flowers. Fan-fucking-tastic.

They make themselves comfortable in the room until the girl catches Vanitas staring.

“It looks like he’s awake,” she says, wiggling her fingers in a gentle ‘hello’ before standing off to the side. People like her remind him of honey. The type who get good grades, who walk with their backs a little straighter and heads held a little higher. Sickly sweet and rich.

“Pardon our intrusion,” Flowerboy addresses Vanitas. He makes his way over and sets the basket of plants at what little space was available by the nightstand. “My name is Lauriam, and this is Skuld.” He gestures to the girl, who nods. “We heard the story from Ven, and we want to help however we can.”

“How are you feeling?” Ventus asks him gently.

 _I feel like annihilating you_ , Vanitas wants to spit those words at his face, but stops dead in his tracks when he feels a twisting feeling in his chest, tight and strained, as though he were stretching his body beyond its limits. Whatever damage was done, it was internal.

Vanitas almost laughs. Of course it was. He wonders if all people are unable to speak after getting their hearts broken, or if that was just something exclusive to Ventus and his pieces.

Ventus sighs. “He’s in a lot of pain. I’m not strong enough to cast the high-tier healing spells, so I was hoping one of you could.”

Lauriam’s features softens as he turns to Ventus. “I hope you remembered what I said to you the other day. Kindness is also a strength.”

The blonde makes a bit of a strangled noise and looks down. It’s Skuld who gives Vanitas attention.

“Leave it to me,” she tells them. A sparkling flash of light gathers in her palms, and Vanitas’ eyes widen at what appears in her hands. A keyblade. It’s a fucking _keyblade_. Do they all have one? How is he going to get out of here with three keyblade wielders in the way?

Her eyebrows narrow in focus as she positions the weapon parallel to the bed, one hand on its violet handle and the other tracing along its golden shaft. It glows in response.

Master Xehanort didn’t tell him about this. 

“Heal,” the girl commands.

The spell activates and Vanitas bites his lip to keep his mouth shut. It certainly was healing magic, but it did nothing of the sort. It _burned_. The magic dissipated into his veins in the form of havoc and he counted every brutal second it took for it to pass. He lets out a hiss.

A healing spell shouldn’t hurt him. The thought never even crossed his mind considering he’s used healing spells on himself before. If there was a light attribute to that spell, his own powers would’ve disrupted it without a conscious thought. But between his weakened state, the magic, and whatever world he may have found himself in… there was just so much _light_.

It’s like this entire city was hell-bent on gathering every drop of light there was in all the worlds and collecting it. Maybe it wasn’t as obvious at night, when darkness was at its strongest, but at daybreak? This world might as well be the sun itself. A world like this could drown out any feeble darkness—especially a darkness as frail as he is now.

But he won’t protest. The way the magic was running its course through his body wasn’t painful enough for that. The feeling is standard when it comes to training with Master Xehanort, and it felt like nothing in comparison to having his heart shattered. This is nothing. 

So he acts like it’s nothing and digs his nails into the sheets.

“I had my strongest healing medals equipped,” Skuld announces, sheathing her keyblade with another flurry of light. “Did it work?”

Vanitas answers her question with tense silence. 

“No,” Lauriam cuts in. “If anything, I think it’s made his condition worse. Just look.”

Lauriam gestures down. Vanitas glares.

He looks like shit, he gets it.

“You can’t deny those eyes,” he continues to the others. “Our patient may be mute, but that look alone tells us we shouldn’t try that again. There must be something about his condition that makes Cure spells have an adverse effect.” 

“O-oh! Sorry,” Ventus quickly apologizes. He presses his lips together and shifts his body back by just a bit. Damn idiot did something stupid, didn’t he?

“So what can we do?” Skuld asks everyone. “His Chirithy hasn’t explained what happened?”

Ventus shakes his head. “I haven’t seen his Chirithy at all.”

“I suspect it might be some sort of blight,” Lauriam explains, clearly the fucking know-it-all of the group. “It increases the effects of light-based attacks, and the inability to benefit from healing spells could be a side effect. If I had a basic potion I could alter the properties and suppress the light element with some herbs.”

As if on cue, the girl produces a potion from her belt and gives it to the quack, who sets to work immediately by the study. Vanitas can’t quite see what he’s doing, but the clink of glass bottles could be heard, followed by the sound of grinding.

“Light-based attacks. You don’t think…” Ventus’ eyes widened with realization. “Hey! Did a keyblade wielder do this to you?”

_What do you **think**? _

“Don’t strain yourself. Just blink once for yes, twice for no.” Skuld suggests, and Vanitas makes one very exaggerated blink out of spite over at Ventus’ direction. “That figures. These wounds aren’t the kind a heartless could make. If the others are fighting then that would mean—“

“We failed?” Ventus finishes for her.

“I don't think that's the case,” Lauriam replies from afar with careful words. “Any… _speculation_ should be best left off for the meeting this afternoon. In any case, it was fortunate you found me before I met with Ephemer.” 

The conversation was lost on him, but Vanitas understood the implications behind those strained words and the change in topic.  

Skuld eyes the plants at Lauriam had brought. “Do those herbs have something to do with that?”

He shakes his head.

“I usually have this much on hand,” Lauriam replies. “I would’ve brought more, but I was in a bit of a rush. He’s supposed to introduce me to the one that Strelitzia had taken an interest in.”

Ventus rubs his hair sheepishly. “Oh… sorry for taking your time.” 

“I should be thanking you. It is worthwhile for me to meet any victims of suspicious attacks,” Lauriam replies, and hands him a bottle. “Here. Give it to him after he has something to eat. Plenty of food and rest is the best remedy for his condition, and I recommend you limit his exposure to the sun, should you choose to continue to have him under your care.”

“I think I should,” Ventus says to him. “The only thing he’s said was my name. I think he might be from my Union.” He nods as if he decided on something. “I want to do everything I can to help!”

Those words seem to greatly please the other two. What the hell.

“You’re going to be a fine leader, Ven.” Skuld smiles.

Lauriam doesn’t waste time. He stands and carefully tucks the chair back into the desk. “I’m afraid I must be off.”

“Me too,” Skuld says, then turns to Vanitas one last time. Her expression wilts. “Sorry about the Curaga earlier. I didn’t know it would hurt you.”

“Take care,” Lauriam says. He moves to hold the door open for Skuld, who'd been quick to make her exit. “I’ll see you at the meeting later, Ven.”

The three exchange pleasantries and it’s not long before the two of them have left the home entirely. 

It’s quiet again all of a sudden. He doesn’t have the energy to change that anymore. 

Vanitas doesn’t realize how much tension he’s been holding onto his body until he forces himself to unwind. To breathe deep and pretend he’s sinking into the pillows. His brain starts to feel heavy. Somehow even the sun feels like its dragging him down to slumber. It's warm.

He’s about to give in to that haze, when his muscles slowly tense. The temperature drops by a degree and the subtle changes are enough to bring his senses back to full alert. Something’s off.

He opens his eyes. He’s still in Ventus’ room, but the difference is that Ventus is standing by the door. He’s given a bashful smile the moment their eyes meet.

“I was wondering if I should wake you up or not,” Ventus says, with a bit of a lilt to his voice. There's something in his hands. 

He takes a step closer and the feeling intensifies. He knows this feeling. He knows it far too well—and it’s coming from _him_.

“I made you some soup.” He holds the bowl up. “I hope you can stomach it.”

Vanitas fought the instinct to shift back.

This can’t be right. It wasn’t the darkness of the night that prevented him from sensing the light before. It wasn’t his muddled senses, or the constant ringing of pain.

It was Ventus.

Ventus, and enough darkness in him to fill the room.


	3. Chapter 3

Vanitas finds the energy after the realization and bolts upright.

He looks at him wildly. His body feels like the way nails scraping on chalkboard sound: sharp and overwhelming. His vision spotted with black at the sudden movement. His head is ringing. He doesn’t care.

With one swift motion, he slams the back of his hand onto the bowl and sends it clattering to the ground. It spills onto his hands, the bed, the floor—and ‘Ventus’ jumps back in alarm. 

‘Ventus’, the boy with the same clothes and the same scent. The boy with the same unruly blonde hair, but cut at the wrong length. The boy with the wrong heart.

The boy who was _not his light_. 

Vanitas turns to him, burning his gaze into blue eyes. The kid—of course he’s a kid, he looks like he’s fucking _twelve_ —is panicking. He can tell. He can tell even though the emotion isn’t echoing in his heart like it always did; the same voice from a different source. Vanitas could always feel Ventus’ emotions. Why hadn’t he noticed that sooner? It was a stupid ability that came with sharing a heart with his other half, and the lack of its effect only proved that this was _not his Ventus_. 

He knows he doesn’t have a friendly face to begin with, and he knows exactly what he’s silently conveying. He thinks this imposter’s blood would feel good on his hands.

Smooth.

 _Sweet_.

He lifts his hand, the one doused in soup, to his mouth. He doesn’t break eye contact with him as he drags his tongue languidly across his fingers. The liquid had settled in the folds of his suit, giving it a clear and savoury taste. It’s not bad. It’s actually good enough to make him realize how badly he needed energy.

‘Ventus’ watches the display and visibly gulps.

“Disgusting,” Vantias forces out, and god does it hurt. He thinks the sound of a truck running on gravel would sound smoother than his voice.

 “Uh, um, I can make some—“ 

“Where am I?” Vanitas demands.

Ventus, or whoever this is, blinks owlishly for a moment before getting a hold of himself. He takes a staggering breath in. “We’re at the eastern district of Daybreak Town. This is my house. We found you collapsed by the fountain plaza.”

“We?” Vanitas asks, and the emphasis on the word was enough to make him choke.

“He means me, you jerk!” A childlike voice rang out just as a puff of light and smoke converged on his lap. It’s that creature from last night. It resembled a grey striped cat, if cats wore capes and walked on two legs. ‘Stuffed animal manufacturing error’ might be a better way to describe it. 

It gestured to the ground. “ _You’re_ cleaning that up!”

Vanitas considers adding its body to the mess.

“It’s okay,” Ventus cuts in, soothingly. It’s almost gentle enough to placate the both of them. Almost. “I wouldn’t be in a good mood either if I were in his position. And I’m glad he has the energy to move around.”

“I wish he didn’t,” the cat says bluntly.

“Aww, don’t say that, Chirithy,” Ventus says lightly, then softens his expression into a slight smile. He picks up the cat— _Chirithy_ , off him. “You know I was using cure spells on him all night. I was really worried when Lauriam said all that stuff about light.” 

Vanitas waves his hand in irritation. “Idiot. Dumbasses like you should just leave it to your friends. Maybe if you put all your brain cells together, you’d have one that works.”

He mentally prepares himself for the verbal lashing that’s sure to follow. The memory of _at-least-I-have-some_ still gets his blood boiling. 

“I… I know,” Ventus reluctantly agrees. He looks away and lets Chirithy fall out of his hands. “I’m an idiot. All I’m good at is messing up. I’m sorry.” 

…What?

It takes him a second to remember that this isn’t Ventus. The same damn voice and the same fucking mannerisms make it hard to remember. It’s his heart that was different, but he supposes that’s all they were. The two sides of a heart to one whole existence.

Did someone else’s heart take over Ventus’ body? It’s not impossible, Ventus should be just as thrashed as he is and that means their body doesn’t have a proper heart. It’s free for the taking. Master Xehanort once explained the process of using vessels to contain another’s heart to him. He mentally scolds himself for not paying more attention. Back then, he didn’t care for things that didn’t involve Ventus or getting stronger. He should’ve been smart enough to know that any knowledge regarding hearts would be of value. If there’s one thing he remembered though, it’s that a keyblade’s form is forged by the heart. If so…

“Show me your Keyblade,” Vanitas commands him. 

“Huh?” 

“Take it out.” 

Chirithy looks at him strangely. “Are we supposed to take that literally, or..?” 

Vanitas, with all his self-control and serene patience, summons Void Gear. He examines it for a second before twisting around in the sheets and striking.

A flash of light comes to Ventus’ defense, but the act is all reflex. He has yet to register what’s happening as he holds the weapon in a block. _Interesting_. Even the way he handles it is similar to Ventus, but the same couldn’t be said for the keyblade itself. It’s sharp and full of edges with varying colours of black, green, and blue. It’s not the Wayward Wind.

_It’s not his heart that’s in there._

“W-what’s gotten into you!?” Ventus grunts. He begins to use a little more force, and Vanitas is ashamed at how easily he’s pushed back. 

He presses harder, ignoring the way his sinews felt like lightning, sharp and burning all at once. Is this really all he can fucking do? Get pushed back by this _gangly worm_? He puts more force into the blow with strength that he doesn’t have until he feels something snap.

A crevice divides the surface of his keyblade. It fractures, travelling in jagged lines with a definitive pop at each extension until the weapon outright _shatters_. There’s a flurry of light that bursts from his grip, and Vanitas can’t tell if the resulting ache is from his injuries or if it’s the memory of the same glimmer shattering something else. There’s nothing but air between his fingers and fragments of gold around room.

It's gone.

Vanitas strains the muscles in his hand, willing it to appear in what should be second nature to him. He looks at his palm. It doesn’t appear. His fingers clasp uselessly against the void— _hah_ —that they now truly held, but it’s no use.

It’s really fucking gone.

 


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've been having wifi issues since yesterday. T_T

Vanitas is stunned.

So is everyone else in the room.

He knew that his keyblade wasn’t in the best condition, but damn if he knew it would be _this_ fragile. 

“I hope that taught you a valuable lesson that bad things happen when you overexert yourself,” Chirithy says, breaking the silence and earning everyone’s attention. “You haven’t lost it forever, but it’ll take a while before you can summon it again.” 

Vanitas considers this. That’s fine. Might be a good excuse to hang around an investigate.

“Since you’ve got so much energy, why don’t we step out and chat for a bit?” Chirithy continues. It’s tugging at his clothes. 

With some awkward shell-shocked reassurance from the boy who resembles Ventus, Vanitas eventually made his way to the kitchen. He was presented with a pack of instant oatmeal, fruit, and vague instructions to ‘help himself’ as though he wouldn’t do that without the invitation to.  

Vanitas refuses to sit. He stands there, silently taking in the rest of the home. There’s no living room. Just a small kitchen, a table, and only two other doors which he assumed was the exit and the bathroom. The table’s big enough for two, but judging by the disorganized bundle of old mail and magazines on one side, only half of the table is in use and it’s been that way for a very long time.

It’s not until the kid moves back to his bedroom with a wet towel in one hand and new sheets in the other, that the cat gives him attention.

“That was reckless and dangerous!” Chirithy exclaims, hopping up the ledge of an opened drawer and to the countertop to get closer to his eye level. It knocks an orange off in the process. “What made you think that was a good idea, huh? HUH!?”

“I only followed you out here because you know something,” Vanitas starts, folding his arms. He doesn’t feel obligated to humour this thing. “The other night… you recognized me, didn’t you?”

“This is the first time we’ve met!” Chirithy says, exasperated.

Vanitas glowers, and when he speaks his voice is low and accusatory. “You don’t feel that way. Neither do I.”

The anger and irritation flushes straight out of Chirithy. It looks down. Then back up at him. Then away again to the direction of Ventus’ room.

“A certain someone gave all the Keyblade Wielders a guide known as Chirithy,” it says softly. “A Chirithy’s existence is tied to the person they’re assigned to. If the wielder dies, so does the Chirithy. So this feeling is something I can’t get wrong.”

It touches its chest with its grubby little paws.

“I’m not just Ven’s… I’m your Chirithy too. Your hearts are more than just connected, it feels more like…” 

“They’re one and the same,” Vanitas finishes for him, voice strained. “If you know that much, then you should know how I can get back.”

“Back where, exactly?” Chirithy asks. “You sure do like to just go on your own pace. I can’t keep up if you keep on saying and doing whatever you want without explaining anything.”

Vanitas squeezes his lids shut. He’s not a stranger to pain, but the persistence of it is starting to give him a headache. “I’m the dark half of Ventus’ heart. Two pieces of one whole existence. With the clash of his pure light, and my pure darkness, we had merged to form the X-blade. The last thing I remember… is having it shatter. Then, I woke up here.”

Chirithy tilts its head. “Hm, sounds pretty complicated for a keyblade.”

“No, not _keyblade_ ,” Vanitas tells him. “Written with an X for the old word for ‘kye’: the X-blade. It’s an all powerful key that leads to all worlds." 

He can still feel the weight of it in his hands; heavy in the way gravity can’t replicate. It wasn’t something that could be held with a grip alone—even in his fingers it felt like it was dropping, eternally sinking its way through his hold, the feeling of longing in physical form. 

Yet it obeyed his intent as though it were an extension of his body. As though they were one.

“I need to get back to the place we fought to search for him. I need the piece of me that I’ve lost.” 

He still needs to tear out this unknown heart from his body, and for that he’s going to stick around and wait. Wait for his strength, his chance to strike, and an escape route. Anything it takes. He’s waited four years for Ventus, he can wait again. 

“Once I have him,” Vanitas whispers, fist tightening. “Heart and body, we will have fulfilled our purpose.”

It had felt so good. So, so good to have their hearts as one. In that moment, the negativity that burdened him no longer needed to be expelled in the form of bile and the hellions that formed in his shadow. No, that light purified it. Purified him. It was so good. It was like he’d been living with in a fog in all his existence and finally something had made everything brighter, secure. For once, he could feel the emotion of finding home and the feeling of resting in it. He felt it all at once, warm and heavy. A sanctuary after four arduous years. Good. _So good_. 

He had felt like a sinner receiving his sacrament; unworthy yet blessed all the same. He’d do anything to feel like that again. And he can. The body he needs is _right there_. All he needs now is his light, and he knows he will find it. Find him. He’s the damn moth to the flame, and Ventus outshines anything and Ventus belongs to him.

Vanitas pauses, shoulders hunched in convoluted glee as he presses a hand to his lips and fails to mask a smile. His eyes are wild. 

“And we will be whole again,” Vanitas forces out through a grin. _His_ light must be alive if he still existed. “Whole again and all-powerful.”

“...Uh? Hello? I’m still here,” Chirithy cuts in. “Yeah, okay, I’m just gonna ignore that. It’s a cool story, but there’s a problem with everything you just said. Ven’s heart isn’t pure light.”

“It really is a problem,” Vanitas agrees. “The heart in that body,” He gestures to the boy changing the bed sheets in the other room. “Isn’t my Ventus.”

“That can’t be,” Chirithy insists. “That really is Ven! Your hearts have the same cadence. If you really are a part of him, can’t you recognize this place? It’s…” 

This place. 

Vanitas thinks back to when he first opened his eyes. How he felt that vague sense of familiarity. Like he’d woken up in the same spot a hundred times prior, calm and unthreatened, despite being somewhere foreign.

He hates to admit it, but it’s right. “What are you implying?”

“Well uh... you look really different,” Charity says carefully. “More importantly, you look older. So maybe, just maybe… you’re from the future?” 

The future?

Vanitas looks to the kid, humming an indiscernible tune as he tidies up in the other room. So that boy in there… is who he used to be? A heart brimming with darkness, and a speck of inextinguishable light in its depths. That shitty weakling?

That shitty weakling is who they were meant to be?

He must’ve been silent for a long time because Chirithy snaps him out of a haze of thoughts by clearing its throat.

“Okay, or maybe not? Moving on,” Chirithy sighs. “What should I call you?”

“….” 

“Well then…” Chirithy continues, when it’s clear he wouldn’t respond. “Ven—“

“My _name_ is Vanitas,” Vanitas growls. Mana gathered in his fist instinctively when his keyblade wouldn’t.

“Whoa, hey! I’m not a mind-reader,” Chirithy protests. It vanished into smoke and reappeared away from reach on top of the dining table. “Instead of getting worked up, maybe introduce yourself next time? Thought it was a habit of yours. But I guess, you’re not technically the _you_ I know.”

Chirithy does a small hop. It’s like its plush body never stops jumping along to some internal melody that Vanitas would rather not hear.

“Let’s start over,” Chirithy decides. “Vanitas, could you tell me more about how you got hurt and how you got here? I know all sorts of useful stuff! Maybe I could give you a hand.” 

Vanitas scoffs. “What could you possibly do?”

“Chirithies are guides to developing keyblade wielders! I’m very knowledgeable about keyblades, and the worlds too!”

“You know enough about me,” Vanitas replies, irritated. “You call yourself a guide, so do your job. What’s step one?”

“Get your strength back,” Chirithy says simply. “Your heart has to find a way to heal.”

“How?” Vanitas responds, throwing his hands out in a helpless gesture. “This world is drowning in light. The absurd amount this world has must be artificial. It would be impossible for this to happen coincidentally—the residents here must be gathering it.”

“Yep!” Chirithy beams. “There’s a lot of keyblade bearers here, and they all collect it!" 

Vanitas narrows his eyes. “In a world devoid of darkness, where would I, a being comprised only of it, even find the strength to leave?” 

“If you asked nicely, I’m sure Ven would help you with the Lanes Between,” Chirithy suggests. The thing sounds so sure he’s incapable of asking _Ventus_ nicely, and it’s right. “But is it really a good idea to travel with a keyblade that breaks after one hit? And you’re still injured, in case you haven’t noticed. Just hearing you talk gives me second-hand pain.”

Vanitas smirks.

“Unlike your average keyblade wielder, permanent physical damage can’t be inflicted on me,” He assures it. “This body is just half of a heart. The ability to heal no matter how it’s been hurt is part of a heart’s nature.”

_However, simply because it is able to, does not necessarily mean that it will on its own._ A long-ago lesson echoes in his memory. _Hearts are like gold. Malleable. Easy to shape, yet not so easily defined. You’d do well to remember that, Vanitas._  

A tilt of Chirithy’s head serves as a response, and Vanitas realizes the careless implication of his words. What must certainly be the price of such knowledge. This is what he hates about talking about himself to others. If this fucking toy dares to pity him, he’ll start with its limbs. He’ll pry them off one at a time, watch its stuffing slip out from its joints, then he’ll—

“So… you’re kinda like a lizard?” 

“..... _No_.”

Vanitas thinks his expectations can’t fall any lower, but like his assumptions with the blonde kid, he was wrong. 

“Well,” Chirithy continues without missing a beat. “Since your body’s unique, you would know yourself best. If you’re not sure what more you can do in that regard, hmm, why not start at your keyblade? That I could help you out with!”

It seems to get excited at the thought. 

“It shattered because of its weakened state,” Chirithy informs him, too damn cheerfully. “But you can strengthen and upgrade keyblades with materials. I’ve explained this to uh, 'you'before I guess, but keyblades can grow. To unleash its true power, you’ll need to use 'fragments'—special Medals that you can set in your Keyblade.” 

Vanitas stares at him. “Medals?” 

“Oh boy,” Chirithy sighs. “Get comfy, this is gonna be a long story.”

 


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the late chapter post! I promise the next one will be longer!

He finds himself standing on sand.

It’s burgundy at first, and that can’t be right. The graveyard doesn’t really have sand, just dust and packed earth. He squints, but the more he tries to focus, the closer to white it becomes beneath his feet. The air is thick here—thick with _what_ , he doesn’t know. But he can feel the density of it when he shifts and he feels it latch on to the leather of his suit. 

He feels its heat.

Feels its weight.

It’s as though this world has a hold of him, squeezing and suppressing. It’s hard to breathe. 

He tries to take in more of his surroundings, but like all dreams, the scenery is lost to his peripherals. The sole focus is the one before him and even still he can’t make out their face. Their hair is blonde at first. Then blue, then silver, then red. He thinks it’s multiple people standing there in front of the shore, with waves crashing behind them.

His chest is tight, and when he breathes the air is no longer heavy. It’s light. It’s crisp, with the lingering scent of pine and the thought that floats in his head tells him that mountain air is thinner, and it’s normal for him to need more air. 

No matter what the sensation, it brings him a step closer to suffocating.

The image converges into a solid form. They lift their hand, palm up, but he doesn’t take the step forward. So the hand reaches out. It draws closer, and closer, until its placed on his shoulder.

Their mouth opens. 

_“You can’t stay here.”_

“And just who are you?” Vanitas mumbles before he can catch the words from leaving his mouth and jumps a little when those eyes sharpen to blue. He shifts away from the contact. 

“I thought you knew who I was..?” the kid trails off. He puts his hand behind his head awkwardly. “Well, I’m Ventus. But you can call me Ven. It’s nice to meet you, Vanitas. Chirithy caught me up while you were asleep.”

Ven, huh? He supposes it will differentiate the boy from _Ventus_.

“Fine,” Vantias replies. He rubs his eyes and allows his other elbow to support him on the table. He takes a deep breath in. The last thing he remembers is giving up on listening when he heard this whole damn _world_ was full of keyblade wielders.

“I told you he was a weirdo,” Chirithy whispers loudly to Ven.

“Shhh,” Ven nudges it. “Chirithy says you don’t have anywhere to go. Sorry I couldn’t get home any earlier. I could’ve helped you find an actual place to crash for the night, and I don’t even know where to begin at this hour. But yeah, you can’t sleep here, you’re going to feel even worse in the morning if you don’t move to the bed.” 

Vanitas takes an interest in the first half of that. “What else did Chirithy say to you?”

“They said you needed help fixing up your keyblade,” Ven says, carefully. “If you’re feeling up for it by then, how would you like to come with me on a mission tomorrow?”

Vanitas focuses on his muscles as he stretches. His body still aches, but it’s nothing compared to how he felt this morning. That guy with the pink hair must’ve known what he was doing. Lauriam? It’s strange for someone to cure a being of darkness so easily with a potion mixed with some plants. Is it something else?

“Or, or not,” Ven continues on his own. “It’s good to see you’re doing much better though. Um... I’m going to get stuff ready.”

Ven runs off to his wardrobe, leaving Vanitas alone with Chirithy.

“What have you told him?” Vanitas asks it.

“You’re a special case, so I told him not to pry ‘cause I’ve already asked someone for advice.” Chirithy shrugs. “And I said that you’re not from this world, and that you don’t belong to any Union, so you’re unfamiliar with a lot of stuff taught by the Foretellers.” 

“The what?”

“That’s a story for another day!”

Vanitas glares at him. “You’re holding back crucial information from _Ven_. Why?” 

“I think you should be the one to decide when to bring it up. Keep in mind that he’s probably your younger self,” Chirithy says as it bounces on its toes. “Anything you say could have a BIG impact on what happens to _you_. I’m not going to be giving you any weird ideas, but I want to remind you that your actions here can have serious consequences… so be careful, okay?”

Vanitas’ breath hitched. That’s right.

He can stop his heart from shattering in the first place. All he’d have to do is tell Ven to fuck off, as far and as fast as he can, from anyone named Xehanort. Or any mention of that fucker. It’d end his sorry existence—or rather, make it so that he never existed in the first place, but who cares? Same thing would’ve happened with the X-blade. And even if they did try to forge it again, it would remain imperfect. _They_ would remain imperfect. It’s not like he wants to die, but he thinks it wouldn't be so bad to just stop existing altogether. No pain; not in his heart, not on his body. No need to worry about loose ends or repercussions, because there's always a consequence when anything ends.

The Master’s plan failed. But it’s not too late for him to join with Ventus. It’s not too late to just be with him, and wasn’t that his truest goal? To fill that aching in his heart? He could make it so he never loses anything... and he’s so tired of losing.

But if he did that, what did he spend those years with Xehanort for? What was the point?

“Or you could just never tell him anything,” Chirithy chimes in, as though it could sense the chaos in his mind. It hops a little closer, and hesitantly leans forward with its paws cupping its non-existent mouth.

“But, can I ask just one question?” Chirithy whispers. “Have you heard anything about a great war between keyblade wielders?”

“You mean the Keyblade War?” Vanitas replies, eyebrows raised. “Some old man I know is obsessed with it. Apparently a lot of dumbasses killed each other over light a long time ago, before the World was torn apart.”

“Oh,” Chirithy slumps. “…I see… could you please not mention that to Ven? Or anyone else you meet until you get back home?”

That story’s literally ancient history. Why would it matter?

“Fine,” Vanitas agrees, suspiciously. He gets up and pauses by the doorway. “Then I guess we’ve both got something to hold each other to.”

**Author's Note:**

> Please feel free to leave any comments! c:  
> Come yell at me


End file.
